by Celia Aaron
His scent washed over me, and the residual warmth from his body gave me a buzz like no other. I leaned against the counter. “You’ll get cold.”
“I’ll be fine.” He walked into the dining room and grabbed a chair, then wedged it under the back door handle. “I’m going to get the fire started upstairs. Will you be okay here?”
I surveyed the kitchen that was worth three times as much as my apartment. “I think I can manage.”
He walked around the island and pulled out a drawer, closed it, pulled out another, closed it, and pulled out a third. He ran his fingers—the backs inked with the words “hell” and “sent”—along whatever he found there. “I think you’re more of a stab sort of girl than a slash sort of girl, given your performance at the quick mart.” He pulled out a long kitchen knife with a black hilt and walked over to me. “Keep it handy until I get back.” Gripping the blade, he held it out to me so I could grab the non-pointy end.
“You trust me?” I wrapped my fingers around the cold wood.
“With my life.” His gaze bored into me, and I wondered if my knees might go weak.
“Is that a good idea?”
He released the blade and stepped toward me so that the tip pressed against his hard stomach. “My life is yours. From the moment I first saw you, it was yours. I didn’t realize it then, had no idea how much you got to me. Not until I found you in that basement. My mistake led you there. And I deserve to pay for it.”
“What mistake?” My hands trembled as he leaned closer. I backed into the island until I couldn’t move any farther. He kept coming until the hilt pressed against my ribs.
“Wanting you.” He lifted a hand and ran his fingertips across my forehead, then down my cheek. “Wanting you so badly that you were all I could think about sometimes. You were the only thing that led me through the dark. Seeing you on the other side made it all bearable, even if I would never get to hold you.” His voice rasped with raw emotion. “But my mistake led you to that basement, right into that fucker’s hands. I should have learned then, should have changed. But I didn’t. And I made another mistake.” He pressed harder, as if needing to be near me despite the pain. Or perhaps because of it.
“What mistake?” My mind spun. He didn’t know me, but he spoke as if I was the only thing he’d ever loved.
“Berty.”
“Because you let him go?”
He leaned down until his face was only inches from mine. “I left him breathing. I hadn’t been given the order to kill him, so I didn’t.”
“What would have happened if you had?”
“If he’s as important to Vince as he seems, Vince would have taken me out.” He smirked, the cruelty in his eyes giving him the look of a starved wolf hungry for blood. “He would have tried, anyway.”
“And then what would have happened to me?” I took a breath and pressed my hand against his scruffy cheek. “If you’d been killed or hurt, Ramone would have killed me, right?” His skin was warm even in the chilly air, and his scruffy shadow tickled along my palm. “You did the right thing.”
“The right thing would have been for me to never watch you, to never…” He clenched his jaw, cutting off his words, but not the intensity of his eyes.
“Want me?” I glanced at his full lips and wondered what he’d taste like.
“Exactly.” His voice was a growl as he backed away. I dropped the knife on the island and stepped toward him, but he reached around me and grabbed the bag of weapons.
“I’ll be back in five minutes, no more than that.” He strode off deeper into the house, the gloom swallowing him whole.
17
Conrad
By the time I returned to the kitchen, Charlie had set out some peanut butter sandwiches, chips, and glasses of water on the wooden kitchen table. Sleet ticked against the windows at the back of the house, and the wind blew hard enough to rumble along the boarded windows.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She gripped her elbows, the chill getting to her.
“Fire’s going upstairs. It’ll be warmer.” I snagged the two plates and pinned the water glasses between my arm and my body.
She reached for me. “I can carry those.”
“Get the basket. We might want a snack later, and I don’t intend on coming downstairs again.” Higher ground was safer, and I could guard the one staircase a lot better than a front and back entrance.
“Okay.” She hugged the basket to her body and followed me through the house, our steps shuffling along the sturdy wood floors.
When she looked at me now, there was a knowing in her eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable with it, even though I’d run headlong into giving her my backstory. Maybe her seeing me—all of me—wasn’t such a great idea. But there was no un-ringing the bell. Giving her information, opening up to her—I seemed to just fall right into it. I could go days without speaking to anyone, but when I got near her, I turned into a kid at show and tell.
We followed the hallway toward the front of the house. Fine paintings lined the dim walls, and every other piece of décor screamed “money”—from the nice rugs to the ornate woodwork. As far as I was concerned, it was all covered in blood. Most of it shed first by my father, and then me.
I turned right and began climbing the stairs to the second level. The carpeted steps creaked under our feet as the darkness deepened the farther we went.
“Have you been here before?”
“Yeah.” I reached the landing and stood back so she could walk ahead of me. “Last door at the end of the hall. When I was a kid, my dad brought me by a few times to speak with the boss.”
The fire crackled and lit the master bedroom with amber light. The chimney would smoke a bit, but given the weather and the falling visibility, I wasn’t too worried it would be seen.
“Do you miss him?” She placed the basket on the edge of the navy blue rug that ran beneath the king size bed.
“Who?”
“Your dad.”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
I set the plates and glasses on the antique dresser. “I’m not doing this.”
Her eyebrows rose, and she put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean?”
I drank her in, head to toe, and my cock roared to life. She was so cold that I could see her nipples through her sweater. Jesus Christ, a sight like that could kill a man.
“Hang on.” I stalked into the walk-in closet, closed the door, and flicked the light on. No windows, no problem. I surveyed the lines of clothing and shoes on either side of the wide closet until I found what I was looking for.
I walked back into the bedroom and over to her.
“Whoa, is that real?” Her eyes widened as I draped the black fur coat over her shoulders.
“I’m sure it is.”
“I thought rich people paid for cold storage for furs?” She ran her hands down the luxurious pelt. What would she look like naked except for the fur? Like a temptress.
I shrugged. “The truly rich just buy new furs when the old ones wear out.”
“That’s messed up. If I had something like this…” She snuggled her face into the collar, her dark hair outshining the sable. “Hey, wait a minute.” She stopped nuzzling. “What did you mean by ‘I’m not doing this’?”
Turning my back on her, I stared at the fire. “I mean that I’ve told you plenty about me. It’s your turn.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Her stomach rumbled almost as loudly as the wind against the house.
“Have a seat in front of the fire.” I went for the plates.
“Stop changing the subject.” She followed me around the bed.
“You’re freezing and starving. Go sit down.” I grabbed the food and set it on the stone hearth. The fire was young, the bigger logs just catching, but the room would be warm and comfortable in no time.
She sank onto the white wool rug and ran her hand over it. “Everything here is so soft.”
Nothing here is what it seems. I sat next to her. “Eat.” I pressed her plate into her lap.
“You’re bossy.” She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. When a moan lofted from her and she closed her eyes, I wanted to pin her to the goddamn rug and make her mine.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This is, like, the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” She took another bite and washed it down with some water before giving me a curious glance. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Yes.” I bit into my sandwich but couldn’t take my eyes off her. “Though I prefer watching you.”
Her cheeks pinked, and I warmed just knowing I had put the color there.
“You don’t know me.” She took another bite.
“You keep telling me that, but then you never give me anything to go on.”
She considered me, as if trying to find my measure. “If I do, I’m afraid you won’t look at me like that anymore.”
“Like what?” I wanted to tell her that I didn’t care if she’d murdered an entire flock of nuns; I’d still look at her exactly the same way.
“Like I’m…” She sighed, her voice quieting. “Precious.”
“Why don’t you give me a try?” I finished my sandwich, the peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth and slurring my words. “Tell me your darkest sin, and maybe I’ll tell you one of my hundreds.”
“I don’t know if I can.” She dropped her gaze and took a long drink of water, stalling.
“We’re stuck here for a while. What could better pass the time than sharing deep, dark tales of tortured pasts?” I wanted to get a smile out of her. Instead, she grimaced and set her glass down. I took her hand and squeezed it. “Nothing you say will change anything. Not a goddamn thing. Trust me.”
“Ok, give me a minute.” She finished her sandwich, chewing slowly and deliberately, as if picking out her words before speaking them aloud. Once she was finished, she cleared her throat. “When I was a kid, my little sister and I used to go swimming at an abandoned quarry a few miles from our house.”
She was starving for the food, and I was starving for every word that fell from her lips. I nodded, urging her on.
“My parents warned us to stay away because swimming there was trespassing, and it was dangerous. There was no telling what the mining company had left behind deep below the water. So, of course, Jesse and I ignored their warnings and swam there on hot summer days. Some of the other kids from my high school would show up, and we’d have competitions of who could jump from the highest spot.”
“Did you play?” I peered into the small window she’d given me to her past.
“Not at first. I’d stay in the shallower parts with Jesse. She was only eight, so I had to watch her and make sure she was safe. My mom always told me Jesse was my responsibility, and I took that seriously.” She turned to stare at the fire. “I did for a while, anyway.”
I slid closer to her, my instincts screaming for me to take her in my arms.
“One day, a senior girl teased me for not having the guts to jump. I ignored her until some of my other classmates joined in. I’d had a crush on a senior boy. He was there, watching. I didn’t want to seem like a wuss, you know?”
My arm slid around her shoulders. The pain in her radiated outward, and I already knew how the story would end.
“I wanted to show them I could do it. I told Jesse to sit at the edge of the water, not to go in without me. She said she’d wait, though she didn’t like the idea of me jumping. She was afraid I’d get hurt or drown.” She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “I climbed up to the highest spot anyone had ever jumped from. My knees knocked together, and I thought I’d throw up from the fear. But my crush was down below. He was cheering me on with everyone else. I took a deep breath and jumped. The water hurt when I hit it, but when I swam to the surface, I felt…invincible. I’d done it.” She swiped at a tear. “I swam toward Jesse, but she wasn’t on the bank any longer. I called for her, but she didn’t respond. Panic set in, and I began diving trying to find her. The other kids jumped in, all of us looking for her.” Her chin trembled, but she clamped her mouth shut to make it stop, then swallowed hard. “They found her the next day, her foot tangled in the wire from a submerged digging machine.”
“Charlie.” I stroked my hand down her cheek. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was.” She turned to me, her eyes glistening and haunted. “I was supposed to take care of her. Instead, I was busy showing off.”
“You were a kid. Kids do shit like that. It wasn’t your fault.” I wanted to drill it into her somehow.
“After Jesse, my parents didn’t look at me the same way. It was sort of like they turned off, you know? I did too, I guess. When Jesse died, it killed our family. We had no affection, no love; nothing. When I went to college, I think they felt…relieved. Like I was a reminder they didn’t want to see anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” I hugged her close, turning her and pulling her to my chest.
She wrapped her arms around me, letting me hold her and stroke her hair. “I think about her every day, you know? Every day. She was only here for eight years, but she made the world beautiful. She would laugh and sing and play. Whenever we’d fight, I’d always cave because she was so much younger and excellent at the guilt pout. And”—she lay her head on my shoulder—“she loved flowers.”
“Jesse’s Flower Pot.”
She sniffed. “She deserved better. But in her short time, she showed me so much, taught me more about love than most people learn in a lifetime. I would have done anything for her.” Her voice lowered to barely a whisper. “For a long time, I wished it had been me that drowned that day.”
“Shh.” I smoothed my hand down her hair. “You can’t change it. And I suspect that Jesse would want—more than anything else—for you to be happy.”
“She would.” She nodded against my shoulder. “That’s the kind of person she was. I know that now. But it took me a long time to stop feeling so much guilt. I still dream about her sometimes, but most of the time when I do, she’s smiling, happy, has flowers in her hair. Those dreams comfort me, tell me that she’s okay and that I’ll see her again one day.”
“So those aren’t the bad dreams?”
“No.” She sighed out a shuddering breath. “Those came later.”
We sat in silence for a while as the storm raged and the room warmed. I could have held her forever, would have done anything in my power to take away her hurt. The fire began to die, and she pulled away and wiped her eyes.
“This coat is getting kind of warm now, and I hate crying all over it.” She forced a smile as she ran her hands down the silky fur.
“It’s the better for it.” I watched as she hid from me again. The real her—the one who hurt, who was haunted by her sister’s death—receded from view. She was strong, so much stronger than I’d ever imagined.
“Excuse me for a minute?”
“Sure.” I helped her to her feet, and she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
I stacked the plates on the hearth before dragging a chair from the small sitting area off to the side and used it to brace the door. Once satisfied we were as secure as possible, I leaned a shotgun against the wall, checked the rounds in my 9 mm, and placed another 9 mm on the bedside table. Then I stoked the fire and thought about everything she’d told me about her sister. It made me want to hold her tight and tell her how important she was, what a good heart she had.
Charlie walked out, the bandage gone from her nose and her face looking pink and freshly scrubbed.
“I could have cleaned that.”
“I know.” She shrugged off the fur and walked to the closet. “Since we’re making ourselves at home, they probably won’t mind if I borrow a pair of pajamas, right?”
I followed her and watched as she carefully placed the fur on a hanger and put it back. Of course she did.
She opened a drawer, wrinkled her nose at the assortment
of thongs, then opened another.
“Bingo.” She pulled out a t-shirt with the word “pink” all over it and a pair of matching shorts. “I wish there were pants.” She dug around a little more.
“Yeah, that’s a shame.” I leaned against the door frame.
“Take your shirt off.” She draped the pajamas over her arm.
“What?” The need to claim her that had almost overwhelmed me in the kitchen surfaced again.
She let out an exasperated huff. “I mean, go in the bathroom and take your shirt off so I can check your shoulder.”
Fuck. I seemed to forget about the bullet hole anytime I looked at her, or when I was near her, or hell, anytime she crossed my mind, which was constantly. I wished I had an extra shirt of mine she could wear. There was something primal about it, as if wearing my clothes was the same as wearing my mark.
“Go on.” She pointed at the door, her lips in a prim line.
“Fine.” I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my shirt while she got naked not five feet away from me. To take my mind off it, I dug around in the cabinets until I found some first aid supplies.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I checked my stitches. They had held, still tight despite the action they’d seen in the alley behind Charlie’s shop.
She padded in behind me. “Let me see.”
Her soft fingers pressed against the skin along my upper shoulder. “I need to clean this.”
I handed her the alcohol and a cotton ball. Her hazel eyes held mine for a moment before she ducked behind me. The stinging scent of alcohol wafted past me, and the burn shot through me like fire when she pressed the soaked cotton ball to the wound.
I hissed. “Fuck, I thought it would have healed more by now.”
“It’s small, but deep. You need to rest for it to close.” She pressed the swab harder against me.
I groaned. “You’re a sadist.”
“Crybaby.” She blew on it and taped it up with a small bandage. “Now the front.”